


silk and lace and you all over me

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harem, Breeding, Concubines, F/F, F/M, Group Sex, Harems, Rhaegar has prophetic dreams or is mad — who knows, Targaryen Madness, smut for the sake of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 21:48:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17129339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Prophecy and circumstance demand the bastard Prince Jon Targaryen repopulate House Targaryen.





	silk and lace and you all over me

On his eighteenth birthday, Jon was called to King’s Landing. He expected a birthday feast, like Rhaenys and Aegon had received, and to be told who he would wed. After all, his father’s letter had told him that they would need to discuss the future of their line. Instead he had left Dorne and Arianne’s side for dinner in his father’s chambers. The food was as lavish as any celebration, but with the exception of his two maids he had never met, Viserys and Daenerys, he was alone with his father, something that had rarely occurred in all of Jon’s life. He had been fostered at Sunspear and guarded by Ser Arthur Dayne since he was a baby, and he only saw the Targaryens when they made the trek to Dorne. These visits had grown few and far between as Rhaegar had aged. Everyone knew that his father had grown as mad as his own father, though not as violent. He talked in nonsensical riddles, lectured serving maids about prophecies and stone dragons and often asked for people to fetch Lyanna. But Jon’s mother was long since dead. 

 

Jon felt ill at ease as he eat his roast across from his father, who seemed happier by far than everyone else in the room. Jon had hoped to his father would tell him it was time for him to marry, and let him choose a bride as Rhaegar had once done himself. He had been half in love with Princess Arianne all his life, and recently she had taken him to bed and taught him how to be a proper lover. More than anything, Jon wished to ride back to Dorne and for it to become his true home. He was years younger than Arianne, but he didn’t care, he wanted her to be his wife, he always had. 

 

But as the courses came and went, Jon had a sneaking suspicion that his father had decided to wed again, to one of the maids who sat on either side of him, or perhaps, from the dead look in Lady Sansa’s eyes, both of them. Such things were not forbidden for Targaryens, after all. Lady Margaery and Lady Sansa were both far too young to marry his father and be wed to his madness. 

 

Before the desert course was brought to the table, Rhaegar poured each of them a glass of Arbor Gold and smiled. “We have much to celebrate tonight. A marriage, and the future of House Targaryen.”

 

“Is it I who am getting married?” Jon asked, “or you?”

 

“It is I,” Viserys said, the spitting image of his father, only younger. 

 

“Viserys will be returning to Sunspear in your place,” Rhaegar said, as if it was already common knowledge.

 

“I’ve heard the Princess Arianne is beautiful,” Viserys said, taking a big gulp of wine. 

 

Underneath the table, Jon flexed his sword hand. No! He would not let any other man touch Arianne, least of all Viserys. He set his jaw. “I had hoped to marry Arianne, father. I wrote you on it, I’ve wrote you on the matter many times…”

 

“The ruling house does nothing marry for love, son, remember that. Not if we want to keep our power. Never forget the circumstances of your birth, and all that I paid for love.”

 

“What difference does it make if Viserys marries her or I do? Why not trade one Targaryen for another? We would all be happier for it! You could keep me out of sight, and keep your —”

 

“You’re behaving like a child,” Viserys chided him. “Is this what I’ll be faced with in Dorne?  _ My  _ children will not speak out of turn.”

 

“You have a different purpose, Jon. It has been divined.”

 

Jon sighed, sick of his father’s discussion of prophecies and legends and House Targaryen’s role to play in the cosmic workings of the universe, but unwilling to speak out against his father again. After all, despite  his rash outbreak, he had a duty to obey his father, and he had always taken care to live by that, no matter how difficult it was. “What is my purpose, father?”

 

“Your brother and sister have produced no heirs for the house, despite several years of trying. Summerhall left us weak, and the Baratheon rebellion weaker still. But all of this was for a purpose. Your blood, my and Lyanna’s blood, holds the future of our house.”

 

Jon was struck by the sentiment. Never had his father looked so proud of him, no matter his accomplishment… and yet, he had achieved nothing besides be named in some prophecy. Jon released the tension in his body and relaxed his shoulders. He had so rarely gotten what he wanted, he had never truly expected to marry Arianne. Their stolen moments of bliss had been just that — taken from a life of obligation and duty which they now returned to. “Who am I to marry?” 

 

He was suddenly aware of the presence of Lady Tyrell and Lady Stark on either side of him, who had endured the Targaryen family drama in perfect silence.  _ For the best _ , Jon thought,  _ if they’re to marry into it. _ Though that there was two of them was still perplexing.

 

“Nobody,” Rhaegar said. He paused for a moment, as if considering how to phrase what would come next. “Two of the highest lord’s of the realm have sent their daughters for you to breed, and from our own house, I offer you my beloved sister. They will serve as your concubines here at court and give our house heirs.”

 

Jon was dumbstruck, but the girls in the room were not. Margaery smiled softly, Daenerys looked adoringly at her brother and Sansa steadied herself with a sip of wine. “My concubines? … breed…”

 

“You’re a lucky man,” Viserys said, “this is more than you deserve, but your father’s dreams don’t lie. You should thank him.”

 

His father had  _ dreamt _ this?

 

“Thank you,” Jon said automatically. 

 

Rhaegar smiled. “I thought to tell you on your birthday. What a delightful present, to have three maidens warming one’s bed?

 

“It’s more than I deserve.”

 

“Oh, Jon!” Daenerys said, sighing her shoulders slightly. “You musn’t be so skeptical of the King! It’s our duty, after all, and Rhaegar has foretold of how many pleasures are to be had by it.”

 

Jon looked across the table at Daenerys, who was still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen with her fine Valyrian features, narrow waist and full breasts, every man knew this, even if he had come to appreciate Arianne’s dark beauty more. Bedding her would not be difficult. Neither would it be difficult to fuck Lady Tyrell, whose own breasts were nearly on display at the dinner table, her green gown falling so low that every time she leaned forward seemed to be tempting fate. Despite the presence of Viserys and his father, Jon could not help to grow as hard as iron in his breeches. But Sansa Stark, who he knew to be his cousin, though he had never met her, did not look as happy about it as Daenerys or Margaery did. Jon did not have it in him to force a woman. 

 

With that, the desert course came. Serving staff set plates full of pastries stuffed with cream before them. Beside him, Sansa tore into her desert as delicately as something could be devoured. Jon did not have the stomach for it, for his belly was full of lust and disgust and shame and burning desire, so he offered her his. She smiled at him for the first time that night, sighing with pleasure. “Thank you, My Prince,” she said.

 

On his other side, Margaery ran her hand along Jon’s thigh until it reached his cock. She smirked when she found him hard and gave him a little squeeze. Jon groaned, much to her satisfaction. 

 

“Father,” Jon choked out as Margaery ran her fingertips against his cock, the sensation through his breeches at once agonizing and lovely. “I will do my duty, you know that, I always have. But… surely it is ill advised for me to deflower my cousin, after my mother’s own death, the Northerner’s have no love for us. Perhaps your dream meant for you to give me another maid —”

 

“Do you not want her?” Rhaegar asked, perplexed. He turned to Sansa and squinted at her, evaluating her beauty through aging eyes. He was growing confused again, as he often did now. “I saw her in my dreams…. but perhaps you’re right… perhaps I was to breed her?” Despite the callousness of the words he’d chosen, and the fact that Lady Sansa sat right in front of him, Rhaegar did not seem to notice anything wrong with the question. He seemed genuinely perplexed. Jon grew increasingly tense, trying not to orgasm while he questioned his father’s motives, Lady Margaery’s hand steadily grazing him.

 

“I meant perhaps we should send her back to her parents. Father, we should not… forcing a Stark girl would cause another war — Lord Eddard’s first born daughter!”

 

His father’s blank expression did not change.

 

Finally Sansa spoke, resting a hand on Jon’s over the table. “My Prince, please stop. I am… honoured to be your noble concubine, and to serve your house. If I seem disappointed, it is only because my mother did not prepare me for this sort of courtship. And I’m… excited for tonight.”

 

Jon nodded grimly, and just as he was about to cum, Margaery’s hand pulled back and rested on his thigh again.

 

“Well it’s decided!” Rhaegar said, smiling and standing up. He clasped his hands together. “Fetch Ser Dayne and Ser Lannister,” he said to one of the footmen who attended them. “We’re to send my son to bed.”

 

***

 

Jon’s nameday present had gone well beyond the three nubile maidens who trailed behind him. His father had the maidenvault extensively renovated to serve as his harem, with lavish chambers for him and each of his three concubines, and private chambers which seemed to be devoted to pleasure, including a large balcony with fountains and pools, sheltered from the city around them with flowering trees in stone pots. Jon stood on the balcony dumbstruck by the fact that King’s Landing could smell so fragrant. 

 

He heard steps behind him and felt a hand on his arm. “The roses are a gift from Highgarden to celebrate the King choosing me,” he heard Margaery say. 

“I they please you, Jon. I hope  _ I  _ please you.”

 

Jon turned his head and his breath caught in his throat. In the few minutes since they had been left alone in their new chambers, Margaery had already undressed. “You were pleasing at dinner,” Jon said, his voice coming out low and full of lust. 

 

“I have every intention of becoming your favourite, and bearing you many sons, My Prince,” Margaery said, mischief glinting in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him soft and slow. 

 

Indeed, Margaery Tyrell was well on his way to becoming his favourite. Jon thought he favoured forward women. After all, Arianne had never left him in doubt over her affections for him, nor her desire. She too would often arrive in states of undress and urge Jon to fuck her. He would not wed the woman he desired, but Margaery Tyrell reminded him of her. He kissed her back enthusiastically, and snaked his arms around her. 

 

“I thought we could enjoy the pools? They were my idea. My grandmother asked me where I wanted the Prince to deflower me. I’m her favourite too, and she had it built just like I imagined it.”

 

Jon nodded. The idea had come to mind as soon as he’d seen the pools, though it was Arianne he’d imagined fucking in them. Often at night he and Arianne would sneak into the water gardens and fucked in them, the ocean-fed water cooling the lust that pulsed between the two of them. It did not take long for him to get out of his clothes, and he abandoned them beside the pool, following her into the water. He had never behaved with such abandon, but then, he had drank the majority of the arbor gold that had been given him, and it was his nameday. He was due to celebrate, wasn’t he?

 

Margaery slid onto his lap. The way she sat against him, her breasts nearly met his mouth. Jon grabbed her waist and took a nipple in his mouth. He was still hard from when she had tormented him under the table, and it had been nearly impossible to hide his erection from his father, the kingsgaurd, and his two other concubines. Jon sucked on her nipple until he had her squealing, and then he relented, pulling his head away and burrowing it between her two breasts. More than anything, he wanted to push his cock into her and have his way with her. Only, she was not as experienced as his beloved Arianne was. He’d need to be gentler.

 

“Are you truly a maid?” Jon asked, not caring which way she answered.

 

Margaery nodded.

 

“And yet you seem to know exactly what you’re doing.”

 

Margaery giggled. “Oh, I’ve had practice at highgarden. But you’re the first man to touch me.”

 

Jon was no fool. He knew what that meant. Arianne had often invited her cousins to bed with them, and she took just as much pleasure in them as she did with Jon. “What sort of practice?” He imagined Daenerys and Sansa were here with him now, and Arianne too, their bodies all writhing together. Perhaps his concubines would find pleasure in each other… no, no, that was too much to wish for. 

 

“Oh, just kissing,” she assured him. 

 

Jon released a hand from Margaery’s waste and ran it between her legs, lingering on her clit, running tiny circles around it. “I’ve never been with a maid. I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“Oh, My Prince! You needn’t worry. I’ve known about our arrangement for many moons now, and I’ve so anticipated it… today alone, it was anguish waiting to be bedded.” 

 

Because she’d asked so prettily, Jon parted her cunt and pushed inside of her slowly. She was tight and warm, and she gasped when he entered her, pulling him closer, her nails digging into his back. Finally, he filled her, and they remained like that for a few moments as she got used to the feeling of being full for the first time. Finally, Margaery exhaled warm breath on his neck and began to rock her hips back and forth. 

 

***

 

When they had finished, Jon’s clothes were missing from the ground of the balcony. He knew there were servants, but now that his blood had cooled and he’d had release, he felt ashamed that he hadn’t thought about anyone else in the maidenvault when he’d taken Margaery. He had enjoyed Margaery’s loud moans, but he didn’t know if Daenerys or Sansa would appreciate it. And in all of his days spent rolling around with Arianne, he’d never been caught by a servant. 

 

Naked and without clothes, Jon walked back into the apartments, Margaery following him. He intended to make for his chambers and clothe himself, but he heard his aunt call out “Jon!” He turned his head, and Daenerys and Sansa were seated in the parlour, sitting on settees. “We’re in here.”

 

Not missing a beat, Margaery followed her voice, and laid down on the velvet chaise in the corner of the room, making no efforts to conceal her nakedness. So Jon followed her, uncomfortably aware that his cousin Sansa, who had not been adequately prepared, was with his keen aunt. He sat in the only free seat, another chaise, though he did not lay down. A second wave of arousal spread through him when he noticed how Sansa and Daenerys were dressed. They both wore matching silk dresses — though calling them dresses would be a vast exaggeration, really. They were wisps of thin lace, covering all of them, but leaving their bodies exposed. Daenerys’ was Targaryen red, and her long silver hair was tied up, revealing a neck Jon realized he would soon be kissing. Sansa was clad in an almost white grey of House Stark, but her hair had been let down. In the light of the sunset, it shined magnificently red, and Jon realized that keeping away from her would be agonizing. 

 

“Do you like our dresses?” Daenerys asked, smiling sweetly, a smile he’d seen dozens of times, but one that suggested so much more now. 

 

“Another gift from my father?” Jon asked.

 

“No. They were my idea… I just gave Lady Stark hers. She looks beautiful, doesn’t she?”

 

Jon stole a glance at Sansa, who was looking down at her lap, where her hands were perfectly folded. She looked breathtaking. His cock twitched as he imagined untying the grey satin ribbons that held the small piece of fabric in place. “She does,” he admitted. “But Daenerys — no matter what my father told you, no matter what our duty is to House Targaryen, we can’t force her.”

 

“Force her?” Daenerys said with a wicked laugh. “Is that what you think you’re doing here? Forcing us?”

 

Sansa blushed, her cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink that creeped down her neck. He wondered if her breasts would be flushed as well. 

 

“You’ve made it very clear you want this… as has Lady Margaery… but Lady Sansa did not want this, and her father probably wants her back home.”

 

Daenerys merely shook her head and laughed. “Sansa, tell him. Tell him how you feel about him.”

 

“My Prince — I may not be as forward as Lady Margaery, but I am happy to be of use to you.”

 

Daenerys rolled her eyes, “Sansa, you must know by now you needn’t be afraid to tell the truth. Not here. Not with  _ me _ . You trust  _ me _ don’t you?”

 

Sansa nodded, and then looked up, smiling at Dany before she looked at Jon. “Princess Daenerys has told me all about the bedding, and how handsome you are, and about the pleasures… that our life will be devoted to pleasure.”

 

Dany grinned happily. “She’s nervous, Jon, can’t you see? I’ve always known I would wed one of my own, and I always thought it would be Viserys, and instead I get this. But Sansa’s mother has told her nothing of what it means to be a woman. I had to teach her myself these past few weeks as she shared my bed, and she doesn’t know you like I know you.” Daenerys had spent a summer at Sunspear, and she had not been shy about running through the water gardens or indulging in the sun. That had been years ago, and Jon hadn’t thought of her, he’d been so busy looking at Arianne, but they were no strangers. “I promised Lady Sansa that you would bed us together, Jon.”

 

*** 

 

The three of them went to Daenerys’ chambers, leaving Margaery to her own devices. Jon laid back on the bed as Daenerys and Sansa kneeled in front of him, still in their matching dresses. Jon had promised to just watch at first. Dany untied Sansa’s first, and the entire thing was so flimsy that it fell down to the bed without any other effort. Daenerys caught her breath, and Jon knew that she had been aching to see Sansa for much longer than he had. 

 

“You’re beautiful,” Daenerys whispered, and Sansa grinned, and leaned forward and planted a tender kiss on Dany’s lips. Dany sighed before taking Sansa’s face in her hands and deepening the kiss. Sansa didn’t seem to mind being exposed in front of them, her nipples were hard and she was concerned with nothing but Daenerys’ lips on hers. 

 

Sansa pulled away, and stole a glance at Jon. “A prince and a princess,” she said softly. “It’s like a dream.”

 

Jon was hard again now, even though not fifteen minutes before he’d been cumming inside of his other concubine. There was something about her breathy innocence that got him, even though he’d just sworn he preferred forward girls… 

 

“You’re the dream,” Daenerys said, brushing Sansa’s long loose hair away and kissing her neck. 

 

“Thanks for saying that,” Sansa said, and Jon couldn’t help but grin when he saw how she was beaming. 

 

“I’ve wanted to do this since you first arrived,” Daenerys murmured so low Jon could barely hear it, her lips running down Sansa’s chest.

 

“I know,” Sansa said simply, and Jon and Dany groaned in unison. Sansa merely looked at him in surprise, her eyes drifting down to his erect cock. Sansa’s lips parted. She stared at him as Dany took one of Sansa’s nipples into her mouth. “My Prince?”

 

“You can call me Jon,” Jon said. They were naked, after all. But more than that, he wanted to hear the way his name sounded on her lips. 

 

“Alright. Jon, would you like to touch yourself? Or… Daenerys, should we do that thing with our mouths?”

 

“The thing with your mouths?” Jon was intrigued. 

 

Sansa nodded, “Dany’s obsessed with the idea of it.”

 

Now it was Daenerys’ turn to blush. She was so used to being in charge between the two of them, she had let Sansa’s innocence get the better of her. “Oh — I —”

 

“Tell me,” Jon commanded, surprised by the fire in his own voice. Jon caught a look of surprise and arousal in Sansa’s eyes, and he wondered why he’d thought he preferred when women took complete control of the situation. He knew then there was joy to be found in taking control of Sansa. 

 

“Dany’s been telling me how we’ll please you, My Pri — Jon, and she’d told me we’d take turns fellating you — and I said, why not do it together? And she really seemed to like the idea.”

 

“I see.”

 

“And would it please you?”

 

Jon looked over at Dany. She was licking her lips. “Yes.”

 

“Do it, then.” 

 

Dany nodded. She was the first to lower herself down, and she took his cock in hand, pressing her lips to him. She looked up at Sansa expectantly. It took Sansa a moment longer to gain the courage, but she gripped his thigh to steady herself and wrapped her wet mouth around him. They must have talked about it often, for they seemed to know exactly what to do, their lips moving in unison up and down his cock. After a few minutes of that, Dany began to lick him, and Sansa followed her lead. Their tongues met around his cock, and Dany seemed unable to resist the temptation to abandon his cock and kiss Sansa again, more hungrily than before. 

 

“I’m ready,” Sansa said, and Dany nodded.

 

“Ready for what?”

 

“To be deflowered.”

 

“And have you and Dany thought about how you want that to happen.”

 

“No, but I have.” Both of them looked at her, waiting. Dany seemed surprised, but not as surprised as Jon was. “In the book the King gave us, there was a position called the Northern position… You don’t know it?”

 

“I haven’t seen the book, and I’ve been raised in Dorne.”

 

“Your half wolf, though. So it should come naturally. You kneel behind me, and I go on all fours, and you enter me from behind. But then — and this isn’t part of Northern position, but I thought — Dany would lay down in front of me, and I could… I could kiss her like we were kissing you.”

 

Dany reached to the red satin ribbon that held her gown in place and slipped the knot loose, and pulled it over her feet, undressing urgently. She laid back against the pillows, and Sansa wordlessly got into positioning all fours. Before she could do anything, Daenerys pulled her down. She closed her eyes as Sansa kissed her between her legs, sighing with pleasure, running her hands happily through Sansa’s hair. “Fuck her, Jon,” Dany urged. 

 

Sansa was tighter than Margaery had been, likely because she hadn’t practiced and pressed her status as a virgin, and so Jon was gentler with her, even though it was much more difficult not to lose control in this position. He wondered what Margaery was doing now, and if her not being included in this was Dany’s revenge for making the two of them listen while Jon took her on the balcony. But he did not think of that for long, as his mind was full of the snugness of Sansa’s cunt, Daenerys’ blissful and beautiful face, and the knowledge that the girl he’d thought so innocent only minutes before was so hungry for Dany’s cunt. “Don’t cum, Jon,” Dany said, sounding near orgasm herself, “I promised Sansa we’d lose our maidenheads together…”

 

It was difficult to pull himself out of Sansa’s cunt, but Jon contented himself with the fact that he’d get to spill his seed in her again and again.  _ As often as you like _ , the baser part of him thought. Sansa moved away from her, and Jon laid down on top of Daenerys. She had certainly grown since he’d last seen her. Viserys had once told Jon Dany had fancied him, but Jon assumed it was just Viserys’ need to create drama. He was not as gentle with Daenerys, for the two of them had worked him into such a lustful creature, and he thrust himself into Dany harder than he had meant to. And to his great shame, it took him only a few thrusts before he spent inside of her. He left Daenerys breathless when he rolled off of her, struggling to catch his own breath as well.

 


End file.
